do you think anyone did her hair?
do you think she had a mother that lovingly brushed her hair in the morning and made it into pretty double french braids?
do you think someone made her breakfast before school and gave her a lunch bag to-go? do you think someone washed her pretty sweater for her?
does anyone miss her? did they look for her with everything they got?
did anyone do your hair lucy? do they miss you? again i ask, did anyone love you lucy frostblade?
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Lies and Alibis
Have this totally unedited and margarita fueled piece of mafia!au nikolai x chubby!reader.
Part 2
It had been a survival tactic really, latching onto the bear of a man in a slick black suit, the gold chain around his neck glittering under the light of the chandelier. She’d done her best, slinking around in corners with a glass of champagne in her hand, trying to play at being casual at this lavish party she’d been sent to in the russian countryside.
She had had a hell of a time trying to hunt down a suitable partner to go to the party with her. Someone who spoke english fluently enough meet her in the middle with her piss poor russian. She understood well enough, speaking was the problem, her accent clumsy. The little language app on her phone could only do so much. She should have known better really, should have caked on more makeup, wore a wig, something. But she’d realized her error to late as one too many suspicious eyes followed her about the place, one too many familiar faces watching her just out of the periphery of her vision.
Better to at least attempt to camouflage herself, shifting her expression to one of vague confusion and worry. She’d spotted him through the crowd, big and bulky, with gorgeous brown eyes and a warm booming laugh. Black hair coiffed back neatly, the strands tickling his neck. He looked polite enough. So she feigned eureka. Slipping through the crowd and sliding her arm in his, praying to every god in existence that he would just be tickled to have a woman on his arm.
–
Nikolai only stiffened a moment, hand shifting slightly toward his belt before dropping entirely as he took in the soft thing now clinging to his arm. She flashed him a sheepish smile, eyes pleading from under long pretty lashes. She certainly didn't belong here, all luxurious curves highlighted under a soft satin dress. He had his own mission to attend to, but one look at her face had him immediately following along with whatever sidequest this young lady was about to be.
“Privet, Zaychonok” He greets, returning her smile with a warm one of his own, patting her hand against his forearm. Her relief is palpable as she scrubs her fingers against the fabric of his forearm. A subtle thanks as she takes a long swig from her glass. He snags her another as the waiter passes, easing it into her hand smoothly.
–
She’s beyond grateful that this russian saint, does all of the talking. He’s honestly a great conversationalist from what she can gather. He glosses over her arrival completely and continues casually, holding a glass of amber liquid in his free hand and keeping her hand tucked snuggly in the crook of his arm. She was supposed to be listening out for some sort of smuggling details, weapons, she was told, all she needed was a destination and that would be good enough. Naturally no such destinations are even mentioned, and when she ponders giving up, feigning a visit to the bathroom and shimmying out the door the large russian snakes an arm around her waist, guiding her along beside him as the group moves along. His palm is warm, and she can feel the rough edge of calluses through the thin satin fabric of her dress.
Nikolai, she would come to learn, was up to as much good as she was. Of course he would be, she was at a fucking fancy dinner party for the god damn russian underground. Everyone here was either a politician or criminal, as if those things were different. It was both a worry and relief as Nikolai kept a firm hand against her side. As the group navigated toward a table, Nikolai pulled out her chair, sliding it close beside his own and taking her hand, guiding her down into seat like a gentleman before taking his seat beside her, unbuttoning his waist coat before settling. He leaned back, draping an arm around her shoulders, settling an ankle against his knee as his fingers toyed with the strap of her dress. They looked like a regular couple, and she found herself a bit lost in the fantasy of it. Fake or not it had been some time since a man had held her this way, protective and possessive, with such nonchalance that it didn't feel suffocating. She didnt feel lesser next to this stranger, but cared for, watched over, with the underlying current that the man beside her can and most certainly has killed for less noble causes.
The thought of it made something in her silly little brain purr and she leans against him, relaxing enough to play along just a bit more. For the bit of course.
So much into the bit that she doesn't catch the conversation happening in her direction. Only blinks a bit owlishly as Nikolai looks at her with amusement.
“Da, malyshka?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Da” she chirps without delay, mustering up enough acting skills to at least repeat the simple affirmative with the correct lilt.
Nikolai looks proud as he slides his fingers along her shoulder, cupping her neck in large palm, thumb petting along the baby hairs of her neck as he pulls her closer to his side in affectionate embrace. However rather than pull away, she stays there, cheek resting against his shoulder as he continues his petting. She feels warm against the man’s arm, safe and borderline sleepy, no longer concerned with the suspicious eyes that had followed her in the beginning of the night. Brave enough to legitimately excuse herself the the ladies room, she murmurs what she thinks is the correct phrase and he eases his arm away enough for her to wriggle out of the nest of his side.
She’s washing her hands, listening to the soft music play through the corridor before an eerie silence has her freezing. The music stops, and all that can be heard is very angry sounding russian being barked across the music hall. She moves slowly, peering through the gap in the door to find her very saint throwing hands with far too many men to be a fair fight. Her bear sized knight crumpling to the floor when the butt of a rifle connects with his face.
Another man barks orders, pointing his finger across the hall.
Nikolai was the first. And she was certainly next.
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